Sacrifice
by Little Cinch
Summary: Carol did what she had to do. Right or wrong, it was done. Obligatory post-abandonment story. Spoilers through 4x04 Indifference. Rating for language and adult themes.
1. Chapter 1

**This has been percolating for a while. I started it after 4 x 04 (Indifference), so it's AU after that point – no tanks, no governor, nobody dead that wasn't dead already. It also follows with the idea that Carol did kill Karen and David (which I don't believe – sorry, that ain't her).**

**It was heavily influenced – in my mind as I wrote it anyway – by two songs. I don't know if it means anything when put by the finished product, but I'm leaving some snippets here anyway.**

**I'd also like to say thanks to everyone who's been reading my work. It truly makes my heart sing. And the kind words have been overwhelming. Thank you!**

**All For Love – Serena Ryder**

_**Stepping through the hole where the moon don't shine**_

_**Spent too long trying to make him mine**_

_**Kept on running but I fell behind**_

_**Butterfly better fly away this time**_

* * *

It wasn't the abandonment that spurred her tears. Carol didn't feel fear anymore, so being left on her own was just another shitty problem in her shitty life. She would live or she wouldn't, just like the rest of them.

What cut her so deeply was that Rick told her no one would want her there at the prison.

No one wanted her. Story of her life.

Well, if she was going to be left behind, fine. Before, she would have been dead within a day. Now she might make it for a while, so she'd best go find a new place to be.

She'd driven the crappy station wagon only a short while before she decided just to stop. Here was as good as anywhere. She turned down a residential side street and found a driveway that led to a gated fence. That would hide the car from casual observers who might wander through. After pulling the car as far back onto the property as she could, she got ready to clear the house. She made sure her gun was loaded and ready, took her knife and flashlight in hand, and stepped softly toward the house's back door.

The door was slightly ajar, which could mean a lot of things, none of them particularly good. But there was plenty of undisturbed dust and debris at the base of the door so no one had been through in a good long while. She slipped through the doorway and stopped to let her eyes adjust to the gloom. It was a one story ranch style house, so it shouldn't take long to clear. She crept room to room, looking for anything alive. Or at least moving. She found no walkers, but the back bedroom contained the remains of two people, probably the former owners who had ended things before something else took that choice away from them. She closed the door.

The couple must have been older, and from the photos still hanging on the walls in the hallway, they'd had three children, now grown. She touched the smiling faces of the people in the photos, leaving marks in the dust covering the glass. She wondered if any of them were still alive somewhere.

The other two bedrooms were no longer bedrooms. One was a craft room stuffed with bins of fabric and the other was a small office. She also found a door leading to a basement that appeared to have been used as a massive pantry for home canned foods. Her heart leaped at the sight of so much food. There was more food here than anyone had brought back from a single run in ages.

She paused at the thought. It didn't matter anymore. She didn't live there. She lived here now.

Once she felt sure that she was alone in the house, she brought some of her things in from the car. She left half of it in case she needed to make a hurried exit. She spent the rest of the day covering all the doors and windows and moving as much furniture as she could move to block any potential entry points. The little couch in the office converted into a bed, so she stole the awful mattress from it, dragging it downstairs to her new basement home, along with everything she could carry from the little linen closet in the hall.

Carol had trouble sleeping that night. It was far too quiet here. She was used to the close quarters at the prison, so every tiny sound here seemed huge and threatening. She would get used to it.

Over the next few days, she set about scavenging from every house nearby. She even returned to the cul-de-sac where Rick had abandoned her. She wanted those peaches from that greenhouse. Each day she brought back more things to make her basement safer and more comfortable, from knives and gasoline to books and a memory foam pillow that was so comfortable it made her want to cry. It was actually kind of nice being there. But the silence was still disturbing, and she didn't sleep well.

It had been several days since she was on her own. She'd forgotten to keep track, and now she wasn't sure how long it had been. Two weeks? Ten days? She didn't know. She had no immediate need of anything, but she found it difficult to stay put, so she kept raiding houses each day, bringing back more things. She finally decided she was putting herself into more danger than she needed to. Sure, she'd been fine so far, killing every walker she'd encountered without any close calls. But sooner or later, she'd run out of luck.

One more house. She'd hit one more house before she headed back. It was the last one on the block. She used the front door rather than dealing with the high fence that cut her off from the back yard. She worked her way through the house, upstairs and down, killing three walkers. There wasn't a whole lot of food left, but she took what was there. Plus she scrounged up some batteries and matches, so it wasn't a total bust. It would be dusk soon, and she didn't want to risk being out at night. It was time to go home.

Closing the door quietly behind her, she left the house to carry her haul back to the car. She stopped abruptly and reached to her belt for her weapon when she saw the driver's side door was open. Someone was leaned into the vehicle, rummaging around in the front seat.

It was Daryl.

It was so unexpected, she found herself unable to react. She stood on the front walk of the dilapidated house, pack slung over one shoulder, one hand on her knife. He extracted himself from the car and stood, looking around anxiously, obviously aware this was her car. When he saw her, he froze for just a moment. Then, glancing around quickly to scan for threats, he rounded the vehicle at a trot, but by the time he reached her, he was nearly running. He swept her up in a rib cracking hug. Just as she was sure she would suffocate, he loosened his hold and kissed her temple. Then he pulled back, holding her at arms' length.

"Thought I'd never see you again!" His eyes roamed over her, checking to make sure she was really there and unhurt. He was smiling – at least as much as he ever did. She smiled back. It was good to see him, though she didn't understand how he could be here. He smothered her in another hug. This seemed overly demonstrative for him which was unsettling when her mind was already whirling in confusion.

"What are you doing here?" she asked after she extracted herself.

"Lookin' for you. I been lookin' ever since Rick told me he'd left you."

Their voices had drawn some attention. A few walkers appeared from behind fences and around corners.

"Is the house clear? We should get inside before this gets crowded." His eyes scanned around them, marking each threat.

Carol nodded. She turned and led the way, scooping up her pack and drawing her knife. They managed to slip inside without any direct confrontations. Much of the house had already been boarded up from whomever had sheltered here last. They barricaded the door with furniture and checked the rest of the first floor to make sure there was no other way in. Then they made their way upstairs so their voices wouldn't carry through the door to the few walkers that had followed them to the porch.

The master bedroom was spacious and airy, or would be if it wasn't musty from being closed up and abandoned for so long. The many windows would have been a danger on the ground floor, but here it was safe enough – at least for now. Carol sheathed her knife and dropped her pack. Daryl was looking at her like he still didn't believe she was there. She looked back at him, curious.

"Seriously, what are you doing here?" she asked.

He frowned. "I told you. I came lookin' as soon as Rick said what he did. Wasn't gonna leave you out here alone."

"I'm fine."

"I don't care if you're 'fine'. I ain't leavin' you alone."

Carol sighed and held her hands up in surrender. "OK fine. Let's just get settled in for the night. Those walkers should wander off by morning. I haven't slept much the last few days."

She smiled, trying to ease the sharp edge that had crept into their conversation. She didn't want to fight. Daryl's shoulders relaxed, and he nodded.

"You hungry?" she asked.

He shrugged, so she dug into her pack and pulled out a couple of cans of alphabet soup and a tin of Spam.

He eyed the Spam warily. "You gonna eat that?"

"Beggars, choosers? Besides, it's got to be better than possum."

Sitting on the floor, leaning against the end of the ridiculously large and boxy contemporary style bed, they opened their cans and ate the food cold in companionable silence. It was getting too dark to see, so Carol poked around until she found some candles. They were the long-burning air freshener kind that made the room smell like mangoes if mangoes were made of burning plastic. But it was all she could find, and it was better than using up the batteries in her flashlight.

Leaning her head back against the bed, she looked at Daryl beside her. "You know, I didn't think I'd ever see you again, either. I'm glad I was wrong. It's really good to see you."

He looked back at her. His face twitched, a strange expression rippling over his features. Looking down, he clenched his jaw.

"I missed you." His voice was ragged, rougher than usual.

She smiled and leaned sideways to bump his shoulder with hers. "I missed you, too."

He straightened suddenly and turned to her, apparently making his mind up about something. His hand reached tentatively for her face, caressing her cheek with his thumb. Eyes shifting nervously, he leaned over to press his lips softly to hers. The kiss was hesitant and gentle. He left his hand on her cheek when he pulled back.

"Daryl?" She touched his elbow.

He looked down again, avoiding her eyes while he spoke. "This is the second time I thought I lost you. I ain't fuckin' this up again."

When she didn't answer right away, he tried to pull his hand back, but she caught and held it. She stood and pulled him up after her. Slipping her arms around his waist, she tipped her chin up in invitation. He put his arms around her carefully, as though afraid she might break or evaporate. Smiling, she leaned toward him, and he finally took the hint and kissed her again.

This time, there was less hesitation. At first it was small, exploratory kisses as they got used to the feel of each other. Carol could feel her cheeks flush as her body warmed to him. When his tongue flicked out to taste her, she pressed herself hard against him, wrapping her arms around his neck, running her fingers in his hair, and kissing him deeply. His arms tightened around her, and he made a little sound deep in his throat that made heat rush to her belly. She liked that sound. She wanted him to make more sounds like it.

His hands began to roam, exploring her body tentatively. They found the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip. They wandered up along her ribs and his thumbs brushed the undersides of her breasts, leaving her nipples aching, wanting more.

She dropped her hands to the buttons on his shirt, fingers fumbling them open in her hurry to find more skin. When she had the last one open, she slipped her arms inside and around his waist, pressing her nose to his collarbone, breathing him in. She'd always used every chance she had to smell him – when she rode behind him on his bike, leaning over him to dish food onto his plate...hell, she even sneaked shirts out of his laundry sometimes. But being able to breathe him in directly, skin to skin, was deliciously arousing. She let her hands glide up over his chest to his shoulders, pushing his clothing back. He dropped his arms to the sides, letting his shirt and leather vest fall to the floor.

Glancing up, she reveled in the heat burning behind his eyes. She smoothed her hands over his shoulders and chest, letting her mouth follow, tasting his skin and exploring the textures there – the roughness of the hair, the pebbling of his nipples, his smooth skin, and the scars that marred it. He moved to hold her again, but she ran her hands down his arms, pushing them back to his sides. Holding his wrists, she looked back up into his eyes. She watched him while she moved her hands to his belt. When her fingers slipped under his waistband, his breath hitched. His lips parted as he breathed erratically, and she thought he was perfect just like this – flushed and rumpled. She kissed him hard as she worked open the button fly. Sliding her hands flat along his belly, she eased down his pants and boxers. He groaned into her mouth as the fabric moved against his erection.

Another sound. She liked that one, too.

She lowered herself to her knees as she pushed his clothes out of her way. He tried to reach for her then, to pull her back to her feet. But she caught his hands and placed them at his sides again.

"Carol-" his breath was coming hard.

"Hush. Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do this?" She ran the flats of her hands up his thighs and raked her nails softly down them again, making him shiver. His cock was straining towards her, begging to be tasted. She wrapped a hand around it, stroking its length and running her thumb over the dripping tip. She followed her thumb with a stroke of her tongue. His head tipped back as he moaned her name.

Mmmm, she _really_ liked that sound.

She took him into her mouth as far as she could. His hands worked at his sides, clenching and unclenching as he struggled for control. But she didn't want him in control. She wanted him raw and crying out with pleasure that _she_ could bring him. She licked and sucked and worked him until she could feel him coiling up. It didn't take long.

"Carol, I can't – I can't...oh, fuck!"

He came then, his cock pulsing in her mouth as she drank him in. He shuddered and groaned, hands reaching for her, but not touching. He wobbled on his feet, struggling to stay upright as he was rocked by his orgasm.

"God, Carol! Jesus fuck!"

When she let him go, he collapsed back to sit on the end of the bed, still shaking and breathing hard. His eyes were squeezed tight. He reached blindly forward with one hand until he found her shoulder. He held on with a crushing grip that was just shy of painful. When he finally slowed his breathing a bit and relaxed his grip, she worked his feet free from the tangle of boots and pants, dropping the last of his clothes to the floor. She liked this, too, being fully dressed while he was naked in front of her. She stood with her hips between his thighs, reaching to frame his face with her hands.

He opened his eyes and raised them up to get lost in hers. His beautiful body was sheened with sweat and his hands came up to rest on her hips. Then he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face between her breasts.

His voice was rough and muffled by her shirt. "I tried to hold on, I'm sorry. I couldn't."

"Don't be silly, pookie." She stroked her fingers through his hair and smiled. "I didn't give you a lot of choice. I've wanted to do that for a long, _long_ time."

He went very still for just a second before snorting a laugh.

"Besides," she added. "That was just round one."


	2. Chapter 2

"Besides," she added, "That was just round one."

"Izzat so?" His arms loosened around her waist and his hands found her ass, massaging and squeezing. His face never left her breasts, but now he nuzzled around, teasing her through the layers of fabric.

"Mmmmhmmm," she hummed in confirmation as she shivered under the attention.

"That should work out nice, then. Since now I can take my time with you." He bit at her playfully through her shirt and she gasped.

He held her by the hips and pushed her a step away from him. Looking her up and down, he squinched up one eye.

"Why the hell you got so many clothes on?"

"I guess I forgot to take them off."

"Well, you should get on that." He fingered the neckline of her shirt and peered down the gap he created.

She smiled down at him. "Guess so."

Grinning smugly, he scooted back on the bed until he was propped up against the headboard. He piled all the pillows behind him, crossed his feet at the ankles, and folded his arms behind his head. Another rush of heat washed through her seeing him on display like that. He really had a breathtakingly beautiful body.

"Well, go on," he said. "Start with your boots."

She stared at him as it registered what he wanted her to do. Flushing, she leaned over to unzip a boot and tugged it off her foot, then stripped off her sock. As she bent down again, she saw him peering down her shirt some more, so she arched her back a bit to maximize the show.

"That jacket's got to go. It's much too warm in here for a jacket."

She shrugged the jacket off her shoulders and let it slip straight down her arms, catching it at the last second before it fell to the ground. With a grin, she gave it a twirl and tossed it away.

"Now do the thing where you take off your bra without taking off your shirt."

"Really?" she asked with a sideward look.

"Yes, really."

So she reached behind her to unclasp it, then wiggled the straps off her arms, pulling the bra to freedom, shirt still in place. Ridiculous as it was, she was kind of glad he made her take it off first – it was a very practical bra for running away from things, but definitely not pretty. Meanwhile, her nipples made themselves quite apparent through the thin material of her shirt.

"Now what?" she asked, fingering the hem of her top.

"Pants next. But turn around first. And you don't get to bend your knees."

"What?"

"You heard me. Turn around." He made a twirling motion with one finger.

Color rising in her cheeks, she did as he asked. She turned her back to him. Peering over her shoulder, she unfastened her cargoes. She hooked her thumbs under the waistband and hesitated while she took a steadying breath. In one motion, she swept her pants to the floor without bending her knees, stepping carefully to each side out of them as she heard him take a strangled breath. She put her hands on her knees and looked behind her. Grinning wickedly, she took in his look of surprise and his swelling cock.

"What? You asked for it!"

"Devil woman! You didn't tell me you was goin' commando!"

She shrugged as she stood up and faced him. She was still wearing her little knit shirt, but nothing else. His eyes were riveted on her body, apparently having trouble choosing between her nipples pressing against her shirt and her naked crotch. She cocked one hip to the side.

"I'm waiting. What's next?"

"Next you gitcher bare ass over here."

She approached the end of the bed and climbed up on her hands and knees. She crawled her way up him, straddling his body as she went, never looking away from his face. The throbbing ache she felt was becoming unbearable.

When she was close enough, he grabbed as much of her ass as he could fit in his hands and pulled her flush against him. He rocked his hips and ground the length of his cock along her slick folds. She groaned and leaned her hands against the headboard. His hands moved from her ass to her breasts, teasing and rubbing them through her shirt. The sensation sent electric fire through her body.

He began moving against her – rubbing his length along her opening and clit without penetrating. Between his hands on her nipples and his dick sliding against her, pressure built quickly. Her moans came faster and shorter until they became high whimpers. And just when she was at the edge, he changed his angle beneath her and pushed his cock into her. She cried out and shook. He moved one hand to brush a thumb over her clit, and his mouth met her nipple through the shirt, biting down with his lips and tugging. And with that, she was gone.

She arched back, grinding herself onto him as hard as she could, letting the shuddering release take her. He let her move against him how she wanted, to extend the orgasm as long as she could make it. He rode it out with her, watching her, stroking her skin softly. As she finished, panting and twitching, she slumped her weight back onto the headboard. His hands skimmed over her until he finally pushed her knee back enough to slide out from under her. His hands didn't leave her body as he pressed in close behind her. Slipping his hands under her shirt, he lifted it up and over her head and tossed it on the floor with everything else.

His fingers raised goosebumps on her arms as he stroked her skin, guiding her hands back to the headboard. He leaned into her, and she whimpered as she felt his hardness against her.

He touched her everywhere. Places she didn't know she liked to be touched. He nibbled at the back of her neck where her silver hair curled and kissed her ear. He stroked the undersides of her arms and caressed her breasts, tweaking the nipples to make her gasp. He tickled her with callused fingers just below the curve of her ass. His hands massaged the flesh of her inner thighs. All the while, he rubbed his cock against her ass, growing even harder.

From behind, he reached to slip two fingers into her, then rubbed them to either side of her hyper-sensitive clit. She pushed back into him and moaned. Then he guided his cock to her and grunted as he entered her swollen heat. He put his hands on her hips and pulled her back against him, driving into her deeply. She closed her eyes and let her head hang as she met him stroke for stroke. He reached forward and fingered her clit with one hand as they moved.

"Oh!" She threw her head back as a second orgasm exploded through her with almost no warning at all. It was warm and smooth and sent champagne bubbles through her skin as she lost track of anything in the world except Daryl's hands on her and his cock moving hard and fast inside her. Behind her, he groaned her name as he followed her shuddering down the rabbit hole.

Afterward, sweating and quivering, they sprawled on the bed together, legs twined, hands softly smoothing trails on each other's skin. Eventually their breathing returned to normal and their sweat began cooling, so they climbed under the comforter together.

Carol couldn't remember sex ever feeling so fantastic. In a sleepy fog, she wondered if it was from the ridiculously long flirtation they'd shared or if he was just that fucking good.

They dozed together in the candlelight. Near dawn, Carol woke to find Daryl propped on an elbow, stroking her hair. She smiled up at him.

"We should have done this sooner," he murmured.

"I did offer," she said, brows raised and eyes narrowed.

He snorted and kissed her forehead before settling down next to her. She turned to face him, and they wrapped their arms around each other.

"I'm just glad I found you. It was mostly luck, but I'd've kept lookin' forever if that's what it took."

Carol frowned a little. "Daryl?"

"Hmm."

"Why did you come looking? Why were you trying to find me?"

"Why you keep askin' that? I told you already. After Rick said what he'd done-"

She interrupted, eying him warily in the dim pre-dawn light. "But why? He said why he left me, right? He told you what I did?"

He pulled away at her words, looking at her like she'd suddenly sprouted a second head. "He told me some bullshit story about you bein' the one killed Karen and David."

"Daryl, I did kill Karen and David."

His eyes closed and he twitched his head, thinking he hadn't heard her right. "What?"

"I killed Karen and David. Like I told Rick, they were dying already. They were suffering. And they were a threat to everyone at the prison. No one was willing to do anything, so I did. It could've worked. It didn't...but it could have."

Daryl moved away from her and sat at the edge of the bed.

"You didn't believe him? Is that why you came? You thought I didn't do it."

He turned to look at her with...something...in his face. She knew with certainty then that Rick had been right. When people found out, they wouldn't want her. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes.

"So now what?" she asked before her voice betrayed her hurt.

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, making it stick out on that side. Sighing heavily he asked, "You think what you did was right?"

"I don't think it was wrong. I was trying to save lives."

He looked at her a long moment. "OK."

"OK?"

"Yeah. I mean, we all done crazy shit since the world ended, sometimes for a lot less reason than that. In the future, you'd best be talkin' it out with somebody before doin', though."

She set her jaw at that.

He continued without noticing. "Once the sun's up we should head back to the prison. I'm pretty sure Rick was already feelin' like he'd made a mistake leavin' you out here before I made it real damn clear to him."

She sat up, pulling the comforter up to cover herself.

"I'm not going back there." Her voice sounded flat even in her own ears.

"'Course you are. You belong there, and I'm bringin' you back!"

She clambered to the edge of the bed, still keeping herself covered, and started gathering her clothes. "I'm _not_ a lost puppy. I'm not going back, and you can't make me. Nobody wants me there. You can go back and tell Lizzie and Mika I'm fine. And I _am_ fine. I'll _be_ fine."

He stared at her in open disbelief. "Of course people want you there."

"Only because they don't know what I did yet. Just go back. Go on." She threw his pants at him in the middle of putting on her own.

"Carol, dammit, I ain't goin' back without you!" He stepped into the pants and buttoned them up.

"You have to. 'Cause I'm not going back, and you are. They need you there." She couldn't remember what she'd done with her bra after taking it off, and now she couldn't see it anywhere. Fuck it. She'd go without.

"If you ain't goin', I ain't goin'!"

"You have to. They need you!" she snapped.

He gripped her upper arm to pull her around to face him. "I need _you_!"

"Well, I _don't_ need you!" She yanked her arm free and glared.

He stared at her, mouth open, looking as though he'd just taken a punch to the solar plexus. He took a step back, his face twisted in shock and hurt for a split second before he clamped down on it. His face went hard and expressionless and he nodded unnaturally.

"OK, then. Guess I had a different idea of things. I'll just go and let you get on with bein' fine." He snatched up the rest of his things and left the room leaving ice in his wake.

Shit.

"Daryl, wait! Please?"

His voice floated up the stairs along with the sounds of their furniture barricade being shoved aside. "Thanks for the Spam."

And he was gone.

Carol sank down onto the bed. She knew she should go after him, desperately _wanted_ to go after him. Explain that she didn't mean she didn't _want_ him – just that she was strong enough now to take care of herself. But she wouldn't go back to the prison. She couldn't. And she wouldn't take Daryl away from the rest of their family no matter what. They'd never make it without him.

Hurting him - losing him - was no different from killing Karen and David. A sacrifice for the good of the group. He would hurt for a while, but he'd get over her. Forget about her and move on. No one else wanted her, so why should he?

Everything would be fine. She had a reasonably safe place to be, and she knew how to take care of herself. She knew what she was doing.

She sat on the bed for a long time before heading home.

* * *

**This is the last verse of the song that plays at the end of "Indifference".**

**Serpents (Demo version) – Sharon Van Etten**

_**I was lost in the world. **_

_**You wanted me to run **_

_**and I climbed instead.**_

_**Searching for the answers**_

_**I will never find,**_

_**but that's OK, **_

_**I know what I'm doing this time.**_

_**Serpents in my mind.**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I would hope it's obvious by now, but I don't own these characters or anything to do with The Walking Dead. But just in case it's not, I don't own these characters or anything to do with The Walking Dead.**

* * *

"Well, I _don't_ need you!"

An ice grenade burst through Daryl's chest at her words, numbing his body, and leaving his heart in pieces. He'd opened himself to her. Nutted up and taken a chance. And she'd made him believe she returned his feelings – that she might care for him as much as he did for her. In that moment, when she ripped that away from him, he fully understood how much he loved Carol. It couldn't possibly have hurt this much if he didn't love her.

But she didn't love him. Didn't want him. Didn't _need_ him like he needed her.

Well, fuck this!

"OK, then. Guess I had a different idea of things. I'll just go and let you get on with bein' fine." He put as much venom as he could muster into the last word.

He grabbed the rest of his things from the floor and bolted down the stairs. He took enough time to get his boots onto his feet, then shoved aside the furniture blocking the front door. She called after him, but he couldn't bear to be near her anymore. It hurt too much.

"Thanks for the Spam," he said as he cleared the door. Sarcasm probably wasn't helping things, but he didn't care.

Once he was outside, he realized he hadn't even checked for walkers before blundering out. Fuckin' hell. He needed to get his shit together. Luckily, the street seemed clear. Throwing on the rest of his clothes, he shouldered his crossbow and headed for his bike. He intended to tear out of there as fast as he could, but once he reached the Triumph, he couldn't make himself leave. Looking back toward the house, he waited with a tiny spark of hope that she might come after him.

She didn't come.

After a few minutes, that spark fizzled, and he rode away, leaving behind the only thing in the world that mattered to him.

He didn't return to the prison immediately. Instead, he hid his bike off the side of the highway and disappeared into the forest. The woods had been a refuge for him for as long as he could remember. A place to think, a place to hide. A place to deal with the pain that seemed to be a permanent part of his life. But now it was no comfort.

For hours he paced the wilderness, letting his mind spin and his heart churn. Instead of slipping quietly through the trees, he stormed through loud enough to frighten game and attract walkers. He lost track of how many walkers came. As each one stumbled into view, he attacked with a brutal ferocity, stabbing eyes and bludgeoning skulls. He didn't use his crossbow at all. When his strength finally gave out, he climbed a tree and slept wedged in the branches of the old live oak.

When he woke, he trudged back to the highway, mounted his bike, and returned to the prison.

As he neared the fences, Carl ran down to open the gates for him. He rode past without stopping or acknowledging Carl at all. When he parked the bike, Glenn and Maggie approached. They looked at each other uncertainly before Maggie stepped close to his side.

"What happened? Did you find her?"

Daryl pulled his things from the saddlebags and ignored her.

Glenn stepped up behind Maggie and asked, "Were you able to track her? Where is she? Why didn't you bring her back? She's not...dead, right?"

Daryl whirled and stuck a finger in Glenn's face, anger surging up faster than he could control. "Fuck you! Just leave me the fuck alone!"

He pushed past Glenn and escaped to the far tower, the one they didn't use for anything. He didn't want to go into the prison. There were too many people who would have too many questions, and he didn't want to face them. He sure as hell didn't want to run into Rick. He wasn't sure what would happen when he did, so he chose to avoid the problem. Throughout the rest of the day, he could see people in the courtyard watching him, talking about him, and pointing fingers. He shifted to the other side of the walkway, so he wouldn't have to see them.

In the middle of the night, he made his way inside the cell block to gather up some blankets and snatch some food from the kitchen, then crept back out and returned to his tower. He tried to sleep, but only dreamed of Carol. They started as good dreams, where he held and kissed her, and she told him she loved him. But as he kissed her, the flesh under his hands turned putrid and she tried to bite him with teeth protruding from a rotting face. In the dream he tried to push her away, but she kept slipping past all his defenses, biting and clawing at him, and all the while, she stared at him with clear, crystal blue eyes. He jerked awake, sweating and flailing as he felt her teeth tearing at his throat and her nails ripping into his chest. He tried to pull his breathing under control, but it was difficult when he could still feel her rotting flesh slipping on her bones under his hands.

Scrambling to the edge, he threw up the food he'd taken from the kitchen. Shaking and sweating, he found his water bottle and rinsed his mouth, spitting over the edge. He crawled back onto his bedding, but didn't try going back to sleep.

He stayed up there for another two days. Early on the third day, he shouldered his crossbow and left the prison to hunt. If he was going to stay here, he still had to provide for the people who lived here. Carol had been right about that. They needed him.

A week later, he had settled into a routine. He would leave early and hunt most of the day. Returning to the prison, he would deliver the game to whoever was in the kitchen. Sometimes he would eat, but never with the group, and he didn't speak to anyone unless he had to. Everyone learned very quickly to stay the hell out of his way.

He ignored Rick completely.

When he wasn't hunting, he stayed in his tower and watched the treeline. Sometimes he slept, but not well.

Late in the evening one day, just as the sun had disappeared below the horizon, he heard someone approaching the tower. Footsteps echoed in the stairwell as the intruder climbed up. Eventually the door creaked open and Michonne appeared carrying a bowl and a bottle of water. She pulled her sword from over her shoulder and sat next to him, where he was resting against the tower wall. She set the bowl down by his hand.

"It's not very good, but you should eat it."

He looked down at the bowl and his throat tightened, thinking of other meals that had been brought to him. He didn't pick it up.

They sat together as the sky shifted from orange and purple to deep indigo. The first stars appeared before she spoke up again.

"Folks are worried about you."

He watched the sky without acknowledging her.

Michonne leaned her head back against the wall and turned her eyes to the newly visible stars. "You don't want to talk about it. I get that. But I know some of it."

He looked at her with narrow eyes.

"It's pretty clear you found her. You wouldn't have come back if you hadn't. She obviously isn't dead or you would have killed Rick already. Or at least beat the shit out of him. So you found her, but it went wrong. I can only guess about that, but it's clear you care for her."

He turned away from her again, not wanting to hear any more.

"It seems to me that if you love her as much as I think you do, you need to tell her. She loves you, too, you know. Anyone can see that."

His chest squeezed tight as memories of that night swamped him again. Without planning to, he blurted it out. "I did tell her. She doesn't want me."

"You told her you love her?" Disbelief colored her voice.

"I..." Daryl stopped. That night had replayed over and over in his head. She was right. He never said it. He kissed her, told her he didn't want to lose her. For him, that was the same thing as saying it. But he never told Carol he loved her.

"Doesn't matter," he said with a scowl. "She doesn't want me."

"Are you so sure about it that you'll stay up here until you starve to death? Seems you have a choice. You can go after her and make sure she understands the situation, or you can let it go, move on, and get back to your life here at the prison. But torturing yourself up here isn't one of the choices." Michonne stood up and dusted off the back of her jeans.

"Bring the bowl when you come back in," she said as she went back inside to the stairs.

Daryl looked up at the stars for a long time in the quiet. Eventually he picked up the bowl and began to eat.


	4. Chapter 4

**Insert standard disclaimer here! Please do not sue me!  
**

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_Everything would be fine. She had a reasonably safe place to be, and she knew how to take care of herself. She knew what she was doing._

_She sat on the bed for a long time before heading home._

* * *

By the time Carol gathered up her things to head out, several hours had passed. There was no reason to stay, and it wasn't really safe, not like her basement. But she lingered anyway, until hunger convinced her to head home.

Daryl had moved their barricade, but the door was firmly latched. She peered through the small window in the door to check for walkers, but saw nothing. Hefting her pack and drawing her knife, she slipped out the door onto the porch. A quick glance around showed no sign of danger, so she loaded her things into her car and drove the short distance home.

She brought in her newly scavenged supplies and went to fix something to eat. Once she had food in front of her, though, she didn't feel very hungry. She ate anyway, since wasting it would be stupid.

Feeling antsy, she decided to take an inventory of her stock of food and supplies. She rifled through piles and boxes and took notes on what food was in the pantry. She definitely had plenty to get by on for quite a while. Going for anything more would be unnecessary risk. She organized and stacked and rearranged things until she was too tired to continue. But when she lay down on her new comfy pillow, sleep eluded her again.

She'd slept well last night with Daryl at her side.

She tried not to think about it. He wasn't part of her life anymore, and she needed to let him go.

The next day, she stayed home, but was anxious and fidgety the whole time. At the prison, she usually didn't have to think about what to do with herself. Even before they took in the people from Woodbury, she was always busy. Between the baby, keeping watch, keeping everyone fed and dressed in clean(ish) clothes, she had very little time to herself. After their group grew and they formed the council, she was constantly swamped with more things needed doing than could possibly be done by one person. She hadn't realized how much she relied on those responsibilities to keep her occupied and feeling useful.

She wondered who was doing all those things now that she was gone? Who was organizing the kitchen? Who would oversee the work rotations? What about Lizzy and Mika? Rick said they would look after them, but he could barely keep tabs on his own son.

She shook her head. It wasn't good for her to dwell on these things. She needed to keep busy, so she started working on projects to make her little home more livable in the long term. A local mom and pop hardware and backyard garden store provided her with a new toolbag and plenty of tools to fill it. She grabbed some bits of lumber and lots of hardware. With some books from the store and a little creativity, she arranged a rain catchment system that would allow her to be less reliant on bottled water. She also set about securing the ground floor of her little home, boarding up all the doors and windows except the back door. To that she added multiple deadbolts. It wasn't pretty, but considering she'd never done anything like it before, she was pleased that they worked.

Her projects kept her occupied for a good while, but eventually she felt antsy again. She decided to get out of her house for a bit and raid a few places. Maybe she'd go out every other day or so just to keep her mind and skills sharp. She had gotten very good at moving around quickly and quietly and she didn't want to lose that or her skill with a knife. She loaded up her empty packs and duffels and drove a few miles to a street she hadn't hit yet. As she worked her way through the houses, she realized how much she liked doing this. No wonder Glenn had always volunteered to do runs. It was like a treasure hunt with extra adrenaline.

Since she had most everything she needed for the moment, she concentrated on finding things to get her through the winter, when she wouldn't be able to go out as often. She gathered up blankets, boots, and sweaters, chemical hand warmers, kerosene heaters, matches and lighters, and of course, every speck of non-perishable food she could get her hands on.

On her way back home, she found herself driving past _that_ house. The last house on that block. The one where Daryl had found her. She didn't mean to, but some part of her must have needed to go back, because when she looked up, there it was. Her chest felt thick and heavy as she looked at it, like she was being dragged through molasses.

She shook her head and drove on before she started drowning in it.

Every other day she would go out, looking for more things. Her basement was starting to feel cramped with all the stuff she had stacked in there, but she didn't want to stop filling it up. Almost always, she would drive past that house and let it loom in her mind for a moment before continuing home. She wasn't sure why, but that house pulled at her. Then one day, after a particularly unproductive run, she stopped the car abruptly instead of driving past it.

There on the doorknob was a tangle of green and white. Cherokee roses.

He'd come back.

Without much thought for any danger in the street, Carol darted from the car to the door of the house. She pulled the roses from the doorknob, scratching herself deeply on the thorns. She took the flowers with her as she slipped inside.

"Daryl?" She spoke softly, but the high pitch of her voice betrayed the hope she didn't want to feel.

There was no sign of him. None of the furniture had been moved from where they had left it. No note for her scrawled on the wall. She crept quietly up the stairs and peeked in the bedroom they had shared. The scent of fake mangoes still lingered faintly in the air. But there was no sign of him.

Why had he left the roses?

He wanted her to know he'd been there. He didn't know where she lived now – she never told him. Maybe he was looking for her again and wanted her to wait here until he came back. But why would he look for her? Was something wrong? Maybe something had happened to Lizzie or Mika.

The swirl of questions in her mind was cut short when she heard something downstairs. The front door had opened. She tossed the roses onto the bed and rushed out to the landing at the top of the stairs, but stopped and crouched down when she heard unfamiliar voices.

"Are you sure?" The deep, smooth voice was lowered, but not enough to keep it from carrying to her.

"I'm telling you, someone came in here – a woman. And she was by herself. That was her car out there. Didn't look like there was much worth takin', though." The second voice was younger and cracked a bit.

"Well, find her quick. We can get her back to camp before dark."

Fuck.

She crept along the wall back to the master bedroom as quietly as she could. She ducked into the bedroom and scanned for an escape route. There was nothing. Of all the windows, the only one that opened was the one in the bathroom that was far too small for her to get through. She could break a window, but they would hear it. Looking down, she could see there was nothing outside to break her fall anyway. Last resort, then.

"Hello? Anybody here? We're not looking to hurt you. We just want to see if you have anything to trade." The man's voice was smooth as silk and made her insides crawl.

Escape was out for now. She needed to hide. The bathroom wouldn't work. There was only a shower stall with a clear door. The bed had a solid base – no space to wiggle underneath. Closet? She slid the doors open carefully to keep from making noise. Shit. It was filled floor to ceiling with organizers and shelves and cubbyholes stuffed with shoes.

There was nothing else. Nowhere to hide. She would have to fight. She could hear them downstairs, going room to room looking for her. Then one of them started up the stairs with slow, careful steps.

She ducked behind the open door to the bedroom. It was the only place available that gave any kind of cover at all. It wouldn't help her, though. They were going to find her. Pressed against the wall, she tried to calm her breathing enough to keep him from hearing it. Her hand found the knife at her belt and she gripped it until her knuckles ached.

She had thought she was different now. Strong. Without fear.

She was wrong.

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**Edited to add: I have a busy couple of days starting pretty much right now, but I'll try to write when I can. So next update might not be as prompt. Sorry!**


	5. Chapter 5

**I don't own this stuff. I just moosh it around until it does what I want.**

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_One of them started up the stairs with slow, careful steps. She ducked behind the open door to the bedroom. Her hand found the knife at her belt and she gripped it until her knuckles ached._

He came a step or two into the room and paused, not far enough in to see her yet. She held her breath, but surely he could hear her heart pounding in fear.

"Hey, come on out, sweetheart. We know you're here." It was the younger one.

He moved a few more steps into the room, but went left toward the bathroom. Maybe she could slip past him and make a run for the front door. When she heard him push open the bathroom door, she darted from her hiding place and bolted for the stairs, hoping he was looking the other way. But before she got more than a few steps, he grabbed her left arm and yanked her around. She slashed with her knife as he spun her, catching him deeply in the upper arm, drawing plenty of blood, but not doing enough damage to slow him down.

"Bitch!" His fist connected solidly with the side of her head, making her stagger. Her ears rang, but taking a punch was something she'd had plenty of experience with, so she didn't lose her feet. He grabbed her knife hand at the wrist and twisted, forcing her to drop the weapon.

"She's up here – I got her!" he shouted. He grabbed her jaw in one hand, digging his fingers in, pulling her close. "You're gonna regret that, you fucking cunt," he snarled in her face. She realized for the first time that he couldn't be more than sixteen or seventeen years old. Just a child.

She lashed out with her free hand to gouge the wound on his arm as hard as she could. He howled and flinched, and she kicked at his knee. He was quick enough to avoid any damage from the kick, but his grip slipped enough that she wrenched herself free and ran for the stairs. He caught her by the collar of her jacket and yanked her back again. Instead of resisting, she let herself be pulled, driving him into the wall with all her weight. Rebounding, they staggered forward again, and she slipped out of the jacket he was holding. She ducked under his arm as he made another grab and gave him a hard shove toward the stairs. Off balance as he was, he flailed for a long moment right at the edge before tumbling down with a sickening crack as his head hit the edge of one of the wooden steps.

She flew down the stairs and jumped over the boy's motionless body. No more than two steps into the living room, she was grabbed from behind in a fearsome bear hug.

"Fucking whore! Did you kill him? _Did you kill him_? You filthy fucking bitch, you're gonna _wish_ you were dead!" He shrieked in her ear, his voice no longer smooth, but ugly and harsh.

He was doing his best to crush the air from her. She struggled and thrashed but couldn't begin to break his grip. She kicked backward sharply, making him lurch when she connected with a kneecap. Raking her boot heel down his shin, she stomped his instep. He bellowed his rage and tried to move his feet out of her range as she kept kicking. While he was thinking about her feet, she snapped her head back and caught him hard in the face with the back of her head. His grip loosened just enough that she was able to twist free and try for the door again, her hands scrambling at her waistband.

He lunged and caught her around the knees, and she went down, cracking her cheek on the floor. He was on his knees, screaming obscenities as he dragged her back toward him one handful of her cargoes at a time, his fingers digging into her legs beneath the cloth. She kicked and twisted until she was on her back, pulling her little .38 from her belt. His face was so contorted in fury he barely seemed human. She raised the pistol, firing at him just like she'd been taught. For walkers, only headshots. For a human threat, two to the center of mass, two to the head.

Gore sprayed and his body collapsed forward onto her, knocking the wind out of her. Blood flowed freely from his wounds, soaking her skin and clothing. In a panic, she struggled against his weight, the blood making everything slippery. When she finally got out from under him, she scuttled across the floor to a corner, revolver at the ready, shaking and panting.

Eventually it sank in that he wasn't getting up again. She crawled over to check the boy. There was no pulse. He'd hit his head hard during the fall, or maybe he broke his neck. She didn't know and didn't care. He was dead. He looked so young lying there at the foot of the stairs, eyes empty. It made her feel sick to realize he was barely older than Carl. Pulling herself up at last, she used her last round to make sure he wouldn't try to hurt her again.

A sudden scratching and thumping sound startled her into a wide-eyed crouch. The sound was loud enough to reach her even through the ringing in her ears from the gunshots. She was out of ammo, and her hand scrabbled at her waist before she remembered her knife was still upstairs on the landing where the boy had forced her to drop it.

Walkers. The shouting and gunfire had drawn walkers. She sighed a shaky breath and sucked air back in. She could deal with walkers.

She continued gulping air as tears came without warning. Choking sobs wracked her body and she shook so hard she couldn't keep her feet. She sank to the ground in a pool of the boy's blood. Her hands rested in the puddle and she stared at them. She was responsible for that blood. She'd killed that boy. Part of her knew there hadn't been much choice, but in that moment it didn't matter. She'd killed a child.

Turning to the side, she vomited until there was nothing left in her stomach. She broke into a sweat, and still she cried, tears making trails in the blood spattered on her face.

The pain in her body began to register. Her head throbbed, her left eye and her wrist were beginning to swell, her ribs ached, and her skin burned where the man had clawed at her legs.

She got to her feet and climbed the stairs, feeling like it might as well have been Mt. Everest. Her head felt muzzy and the room spun, forcing her to cling to the railing as she made her way up. She was certain she had a concussion, maybe a bad one.

When she reached the landing, she scooped up her knife from where it lay in the hallway, nearly falling in the process. She couldn't seem to make the blade go into the sheath, though, so she dropped it as she made her way back into the bedroom. The smell of mangoes made her queasy again, so she grabbed her Cherokee roses and held them close to her chest, breathing in their strong fragrance and ignoring the thorns. She staggered into the little bathroom and slumped to the floor against the back wall, shower stall on one side, cold porcelain on the other.

She leaned her head against the shower door. The cool glass felt good on her battered face. She was too confused to remember if it was safe to sleep or not when you had a concussion, but before she could decide, she sank into blackness.


	6. Chapter 6

The morning after Michonne came to talk to him, Daryl woke feeling determined. He would go back to the house he and Carol had spent the night in and work from there to find her. She'd never said where she was holed up, but he felt sure it wasn't far away. He ate a quick breakfast and gathered a few things, since he didn't know how long it would take to find her again.

He stopped Michonne on her way back in from watch.

"Thank you," he said, knowing she would understand.

She smiled her dazzling smile and said, "I was hoping you'd go for option one."

He snorted and left her laughing softly behind him.

He took his bike to the fence and waited for Tyreese to open the gates for him. He frowned. Tyreese was a problem he'd have to solve after he found Carol again and convinced her to come home. One thing at a time.

Ignoring the walkers that started moving his direction as he left the prison, he sped down the road as quickly as the debris and deteriorated asphalt allowed. He pulled the bike over briefly when he caught a flash of white in the trees alongside the road – Cherokee roses. He cut a couple canes that were blooming heavily and coiled them into a bundle, being careful to avoid the large thorns. Tucking the tangle into his saddlebag, he mounted the bike and continued on his way.

It was only twelve miles or so to the neighborhood where the house stood. These days it always took a little longer to get wherever you were going due to debris, car pileups, and crumbling roads, but it didn't take more than a half hour to reach the house. He parked his bike, retrieved his thorny bundle, and scanned the area for walkers. There was only one paying him any attention between his bike and the door, so he quickly took it out with his crossbow. He snagged the bolt on his way past, pausing on the porch long enough to cock his bow and reload.

He carefully pushed the front door open and entered the house with weapon at the ready. Pushing the door closed behind him with one foot, he carefully checked the first floor to be certain it was clear before heading upstairs. There was no sign that Carol had been back. Even though he knew it was a long shot, he still felt disappointment at not finding her right away.

He sat on the end of the big bed, and considered how to proceed. He figured he'd leave the roses on the front door as a sign to her that he'd been there. But then what, exactly? There was no way to know if she was even in this general area anymore. It had been, what, two weeks or so since he'd found her here? She might be holed up somewhere nearby, but she could just as easily be anywhere else. If she'd continued traveling, there was no way he'd find her, so he'd go with the assumption that she was somewhere nearby. The house was only a few miles from where Rick said he'd left her, so it seemed a reasonable assumption.

So he went back downstairs and left the tangle of roses hanging on the doorknob, hoping that if she came by she would see it and either wait for him, or leave a message telling him where to find her.

He spent the rest of the day criss-crossing the area hoping to find some sign of her, but he didn't see anything. Returning to the house, he parked his bike in a neighboring yard that had a gated fence. He killed another couple of walkers making his way back to the house. He slept upstairs, but couldn't quite bring himself to sleep in the bed they had shared.

At first light, he rose and ate a little breakfast from the food he'd brought with him. Then he closed up the house and started his bike for another day of scouring the area. He covered a great deal of ground, stopping only to pee and siphon some gasoline for the bike, but had no luck spotting any sign of Carol. He'd only been at it for two days, and already he felt frustrated at the lack of direction. Unless she came to him, seeing the roses he'd left, there was little chance he'd just happen across her again. But he set his frustration aside. He would look until he found her, or he'd die trying.

The evening was coming – it would be dark soon. He decided to scan through one more development, on his way back to the house. It was one where all the houses looked the same in slightly different colors, with a million dead ends and cul-de-sacs all with names like Peachtree Place and Peachtree Lane. He'd just made his way out of Peachtree Circle when he heard gunfire. It was very faint, but unmistakeable. And he'd swear it came from the direction of the house, though if he were honest, it could have come from almost anywhere.

His stomach churning in dread, he turned back to the main road and raced toward the house. A surge of fear and adrenaline hit him as he turned onto the street and he saw that Carol's car was parked there and his Cherokee roses were gone. The door of the house was broken wide open.

He jumped off the bike and ran for the door, pulling his crossbow from his shoulder as he went. Reaching the porch, he slowed – he had to be smart about this and not get himself killed rushing blindly in. He readied his bow and spun into the entryway. The smell of blood and walkers hit him almost before he could see what was there. There were two corpses on the ground with a handful of walkers grouped around each one, pulling and tearing at the bodies. Two corpses? He fought back panic, fearing one of those bodies might be Carol. Working as quickly and quietly as he could, he put bolts in the heads of most of the geeks, then took out the last two with his knife while they were still distracted with their meal. He pulled bolts from skulls and dragged walker bodies off the torn up remains in the middle of each pile. It was hard to tell much about the corpses except he was sure neither of them was Carol. The little .38 on the ground was definitely hers, though. It was empty.

He closed the front door as best he could and blocked it with the couch that had already served as barricade once before. He quickly scanned the rest of the first floor, killing two more wandering walkers, but no Carol. Taking the stairs two at a time, he rushed to the second floor. There was blood on the stairs and in the hallway. He forced the panic down again when he saw her bloodied knife on the floor. The doors to the other bedrooms were closed, but the one to the master bedroom was open so he crept up and peered into the room. He stepped through the door with crossbow raised and put a bolt through the head of another walker that was pushing open the door to the little bathroom. The rest of the room was clear. He relaxed a bit now that the walkers were gone, but where was Carol? She had to be here, didn't she? Her car was here and the roses were gone. Maybe she'd gotten out before the walkers came.

He stepped over to the walker to retrieve his bolt and froze.

Oh, God.

Carol was slumped against the shower stall in the little bathroom covered in blood from head to toe, the crushed Cherokee roses in her hands.

Daryl felt the panic rise up again, nearly overtaking him. He dropped his crossbow, heedless of damage, and rushed to her side. With shaking hands, he checked her throat for a pulse and nearly cried in relief when he found it beating slowly but strong under his fingers. Moving her as little as possible, he checked her over for injuries. The blood, though alarming, mostly appeared to be someone else's. He could only find a few scratches and a gash on the back of her head which couldn't account for all of it. No bites. The worst physical damage appeared to be a swollen wrist and heavy bruising and swelling on her face, though it was hard to tell under all the blood. But she was unconscious still, which was far more worrying than the rest. A head injury could be extremely serious, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to help her.

"Carol?" He gently turned her to face him with a hand on her neck. He stroked her hair above her ear where there didn't seem to be any damage. "Carol, are you with me? Can you wake up for me? Please?"

Her eyelids fluttered lightly and she murmured something unintelligible, but the relief he felt at getting any kind of response left him lightheaded. He decided to move her to the bed so she wouldn't be crumpled awkwardly on the cold tile floor. He'd be better able to see to her injuries and clean up the blood from there as well.

"We're going to move to the other room, OK? I'm gonna carry you to the bed. It's me, kitten. You're safe now," he said, just in case she could hear him. He didn't want her to panic and struggle when he picked her up. He untangled the roses from her hand and set them by the sink. As gently as he could, he pulled her arm around his shoulders and scooped her up, his arms supporting her back and her knees, much as he had done that day in the tombs. Her head lolled to rest by his chin.

"Daryl?" Her voice was weak and she slurred heavily.

"Yeah, it's me. You're safe now."

"You came?" Her head tipped unsteadily up and her eyes tried to focus on him with little success.

"I'm here, and you're safe, I promise," he said as he carried her to the bed. Supporting himself with one knee on the bed, he carefully lowered her to rest on the rumpled comforter. He sat beside her and stroked her hair gently.

"Daryl? You came back?" she said again, confused. One hand moved at her side, reaching for him. He put his hand out flat beneath hers, careful not to put pressure on it. Hers was covered with blood and the wrist was puffy and bruised. He tried to answer, but couldn't get the words past the lump in his throat. He swallowed hard and tried again.

"I came back."


	7. Chapter 7

**Gooey mush has oozed all over my keyboard. Everyone have their insulin?**

**The Walking Dead does not belong to me.**

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"_I came back."_

Daryl forced the words out past the lump in his throat. Seeing Carol lying there, battered and bloody, made a sickening wave of guilt wash over him for ever leaving her in the first place. But he couldn't afford to think about that right now. He was here now and had to take care of her – had to make sure she would be all right.

After his reassurance, she had drifted back into sleep or unconsciousness. He didn't know which, but he supposed it didn't make much difference. He decided he'd make a run out to his bike to bring in the supplies he'd brought with him. She would need to rest for several days at least, and they would need the food and water.

"I need to go get some things. I'll be right back, OK? Carol?" She didn't respond, but he hoped she heard him anyway.

He picked up his crossbow and ran out to his bike to bring in his meager supplies. He peered into her car, too, and snagged a couple gallon jugs of water and a box of Pop Tarts. Arms loaded, he hurried back inside. After reassembling his barricade, he dashed up the stairs as fast as he could when he heard her call out for him.

"Daryl?" Her voice was fearful. "Daryl?"

"I'm here, kitten." He sat on the edge of the bed and picked up her uninjured hand.

"What happened?" She tried to focus on him, but her eyes wouldn't cooperate.

"Don't worry about that right now. You got hurt, but I'm here, and we need to get you better, OK?"

"OK." She paused, then frowned in confusion. "I'm not a kitten."

He smiled. "Sure you are. Nine lives, right?"

"Oh," she said agreeably. "OK."

"I need to get you cleaned up now. Will you help me do that?"

"Yeah."

She grimaced as he helped her sit up. He wasn't sure if it was from the headache or from her other injuries. He tried to help her pull her shirt over her head, but he gave up when she whimpered in pain. Instead, he pulled his hunting knife and cut her shirt and cargo pants right off her body. The clothes were so soaked in blood they weren't worth trying to save anyway. He hesitated briefly before deciding to remove her underthings as well – they were also blood soaked, and she clearly couldn't change out of them herself. He would just have to deal with feeling awkward. She didn't even seem to notice she was naked.

Using washcloths he discovered after a quick search of the bathroom, Daryl gently started cleaning away the blood from her face and body. She let him move her around like a rag doll as he worked, leaning heavily on him. By the time the blood was cleaned up, he'd gone through several cloths and one of the gallon jugs of water. He could see her injuries more clearly now. He felt sick with guilt when he saw the marks on her legs that were obviously from fingers grabbing at her. There were more finger marks on her cheek along with scrapes and the shiner that left one eye partly swollen shut.

He held her upright while he made her take three ibuprofen from a bottle in the bathroom that was only two months out of date. He let her drink her fill of water. Finally, he laid her back on the pillows and pressed a clean cloth to the gash on the back of her head. The rest of her scrapes and scratches had already stopped bleeding.

He eased the comforter out from under her and covered her with it, tucking her in.

"Daryl?" she asked. "What happened? My head hurts."

"It's OK. You got hurt, but you're safe now." He was getting used to her repetitive questions. She couldn't seem to remember asking the same thing five minutes ago.

She frowned. "I'm a kitten."

"That's right." He smiled at that. "I'm going to go over to the closet to see if there's something for you to wear, OK, kitten?"

"No!" She blinked furiously as she tried to bring him in focus. "Please don't leave me!"

Her hand gripped his forearm with surprising strength. He covered her hand with his and sat back down on the edge of the bed.

"I'm not leaving, I promise. But I need to find you some clothes. I'll be right over there at the closet. Will that be all right?"

She relaxed and let her hand fall away from his arm, which he took for consent. He went to the closet and rummaged around. Three quarters of the closet was stuffed with women's clothes, so he figured there should be something usable. But as he dug around, all he could find were snooty looking suits and skirts and frilly shirts made from something slippery. Apparently this woman never did anything unless she was dressed to the nines. Even the pajamas he found were slinky, silky things that made him uncomfortable. Finally he just went to the section of closet relegated to the man who'd lived there and pulled out a big T-shirt. Feeling awkward, he went back to the woman's stuff and plucked a lacy pair of underwear out of a humongous drawer full of more lacy underwear.

By the time he got back to the bedside, Carol had fallen asleep again. He knew that rest and sleep were the best things for her right now, but anxiety still crawled through his belly. At least she was alive and safe.

Not wanting to wake her, he left the T-shirt and underwear folded on the night table next to the bed. It was getting dark, so he searched around until he found more of those stinky candles she had discovered last time. These were labeled "Ocean Breeze". He'd never been to the ocean, but he was pretty damn sure it didn't smell like these candles. But he needed the light so he could check on Carol throughout the night.

He sat leaning against the side of the bed. As they both rested, he puzzled over what he'd found here. Two corpses, lots of walkers, and one very banged up Carol. Her injuries appeared to have been inflicted by live human hands. The half eaten bodies downstairs must have been the men who hurt her. Hot rage boiled in his belly at that thought. He hoped they were alive when they got eaten.

It didn't matter. They were dead and she was alive. His brave, strong, beautiful Carol.

On the bed above him, Carol shifted and moaned, mumbling in her sleep. He moved to sit at the edge of the mattress, his back resting against the headboard, so he could soothe her by running his fingers through her hair. She sighed and quieted at his touch.

He sat like that for some time, with one hand lightly resting at the top of her head, smoothing her short hair. Daryl had nearly dozed off, but he was startled awake when she thrashed and cried out in her sleep.

"Daryl? _Daryl_!" The fear in her voice sent ice through his stomach before he woke enough to realize she was dreaming.

He caught her injured hand to keep her from hurting it more while he put a hand to her cheek to wake her. "Carol, I'm here! You're safe – you're with me. You're just having a nightmare. I promise you're safe."

She whimpered as the dream faded. Her eyes opened and she blinked heavily in confusion. "I'm dreaming? I'm dreaming."

"Yes, you're dreaming." He stroked her cheekbone with his thumb.

She turned to him and her eyes focused clearly on his face for the first time since he'd found her. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"I'm sorry," she repeated. She looked confused again. "I lied to you."

It was his turn to look confused. "What do you mean?"

Her eyes turned sleepy and soft. "I need you."

Her words made his chest squeeze tight.

"Please don't go away. I need you," her words were slurring again and she slipped back toward sleep.

"I'm here," was all he could think to say.

"Mmmm," she hummed. "I love you."

His heart skipped, making it even harder to breathe. He knew she wasn't in her right mind, but her words warmed him, and he felt his face flush.

"I love you, too, kitten."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Concussions suck.**

* * *

Carol floated through a swirling maelstrom of confusing images and thoughts. A thing would come into her mind, but she couldn't hold on to it long enough to make sense of it. There was light and dark and movement, but none of it was clear. The pain in her head wouldn't allow it to be. A voice came, the rolling sounds of consonants and vowels making a strange music, but the syllables didn't make words she could understand.

The blur coalesced into a clearer series of images that repeated relentlessly. Bad men loomed impossibly tall and strong in her mind, walkers clawed and pounded at her thoughts. Blood flowed from gaping wounds and she stared into the empty eyes of a child.

But sometimes the dream was better. Daryl was there, carrying her away from the hard, cold place. She felt his hands on her, soothing and warm. His voice helped her keep out the bad dreams. She wanted him to tell her what had happened that she was trapped in this dream, but the answers slipped away. She wanted so much from him, but she couldn't hold on to it all. His face came into focus in her mind, eyes burning from behind his too-long hair. She had hurt him. She clearly remembered the shock and pain on his face, and grief flowed through her knowing she had caused it. It wasn't true. She _did_ need him. She loved him. But then blackness slipped in, and she didn't remember any dreams, good or bad.

With a start, she woke and tried to sit up. Pain sliced through her head, and she groaned. Concussions had their own kind of crawling pain that was unmistakable. She'd had more than a few in her life, mostly gifted to her by Ed. The light from the windows was far too bright and made her eyes ache. She sat up slowly, trying to figure out where she was and what had happened.

She recognized the room, the bed. This was the house – the one where Daryl had found her. The one where they'd spent the night together. No wonder she'd been dreaming of him.

Fragments of memory were coming back. There were men who'd come. She'd tried to run but had to fight instead. She went cold as she remembered that she'd killed them both, a man and a boy. She didn't want to remember that.

It suddenly registered that she had been sleeping tucked cozily into bed, and she was totally naked. She definitely did NOT remember that. Could she have put herself to bed? No, she was clean, too – she knew she'd been covered with blood after shooting that man. And on the nightstand, there was a folded T-shirt with some skimpy underwear. She grabbed the clothes and gingerly made her way into them, discovering that she had many other sore parts in addition to her head.

She pressed her fingers to her forehead and tried to make her brain work. She'd dreamed of Daryl and Cherokee roses. No, the roses were real. She looked at her hands and wrists, confirming the scratches she'd given herself on the thorns were there. The roses were real, so maybe Daryl had been real, too.

She closed her eyes against the light and tried to remember what had happened, but all she could come up with were some vague impressions of him touching her hair and something about cats. The last bit puzzled her. It made no sense.

Sighing in frustration, she laid back down under the comforter and rested her throbbing head on the pillow. If Daryl had come back, he must still be nearby – he wouldn't leave her, she was sure. Not when she was hurt. She would wait. She snorted to herself. Doing anything else was pretty much impossible with the state she was in.

Daryl had come back. She wondered at that for a while as sleep crept up on her again.

* * *

When she woke, the edge of the mattress was dipping under Daryl's weight as he sat.

"'Bout time you woke up. Been worried. You with me now?"

She nodded carefully. "Still hard to think."

"How you feelin'?" He touched his fingers to her bruised cheek. "Swelling's gone down a bit, but I bet you got a helluva headache."

"Yeah. I woke up a while ago, but you weren't here."

"Been clearing out the bodies. Watch your step over there." He angled his head to a gory spot in front of the bathroom.

"Daryl, what happened? I remember some of it, but nothing after I came upstairs."

He reached for the ibuprofen on the nightstand and shook a few out, offering them to her along with a bottle of water. She took them gratefully.

"I was hopin' you could tell me. I heard gunfire, came back here, and the door was open. There were two bodies bein' worked over by walkers, and you were up here in the bathroom all covered in blood. There was a walker right outside the door. Scared the shit out of me. For a second, I thought you were dead." His voice was soft, but his eyes betrayed the turbulence inside him.

He cleared his throat before continuing. "You were in and out for a while there. Got you cleaned up and let you sleep."

"There were walkers?"

"Yeah." He hesitated, as though unsure if he should ask the question. "Those bodies. Who were they?"

Tears sprung to her eyes. "They came in while I was up here looking for you. One of them saw me come in the house, and they tried to catch me, take me with them. But I killed them." The tears were rolling freely now. She wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of the oversized shirt.

"You killed two men?" She couldn't tell if he sounded more surprised or proud.

"No, I killed a man and a boy." She sobbed harder, sucking in air. "He was just a boy, barely older than Carl! Daryl, I killed a child!"

He reached for her, gathering her up in his arms, being mindful of her sore body. She clung to him with her good arm, and he let her cry herself out. When she settled down to just sniffles, he helped her lie back on the pillows. Her tears left her head throbbing even more.

He leaned forward to look intently into her eyes. "They were tryin' to hurt you. All you did was defend yourself. He mighta been a boy in years, but someone like that wasn't a child. You can't let it tear you up."

She sniffed and nodded slightly. She knew all this. She'd seen what Carl had become capable of at his young age. This was a terrible world to grow up in. Even with good people around you, it was too easy to do the wrong thing – make the wrong choices.

The thought made her uncomfortable, so she asked Daryl, "Is there food? I'm hungry."

"Don't know as I'd call it food, but I'm sure it's better than Spam." He dug through a pile of stuff at the end of the bed and produced a box of Pop Tarts that he must have found in her car. He opened a foil packet, offered her one of the pastries, and took the other for himself.

"Brown sugar cinnamon. My favorite," he said around a big mouthful.

She smiled at him. "Figures these things would survive an apocalypse. I bet you could still find them edible in another 20 years – or at least as edible as they ever were."

He passed her the water, and she washed her breakfast down. They shared another packet before deciding that was more than enough.

The activity had left her exhausted, so she leaned back and closed her aching eyes.

Daryl sat by her on the edge of the bed. "You rest. Sleep as much as you can. If you need anything, holler. I won't be far."

She opened her eyes to look up at him and brushed her fingers over his. "I'm glad you came back."

He turned his hand over to catch hers. "Me, too."

Fidgeting, he added, "We're gonna need to talk about some stuff soon, but I want you to get better first."

She nodded carefully, knowing it was likely to be a difficult conversation. "We can go to my place in a day or two. It's safer, and I have plenty of food and water."

The silence stretched a little too long.

"Can I ask you something?" she blurted out.

"'Course."

"Did something happen about cats? I keep remembering cats."

Daryl didn't answer. A smile bloomed on his face and his eyes gleamed. He squeezed her fingers then disappeared down the stairs, leaving her more puzzled than before.


	9. Chapter 9

**Reminder of the standard boring disclaimer - not mine, blah, blah. **

**Totally unrelated to the story, I'm RIDICULOUSLY EXCITED because I get to go to Portland Comic Con this weekend, and Norman Reedus will be there. Anyone else going?**

* * *

They stayed in the house for two more days, allowing Carol to sleep off the worst of her concussion symptoms. Daryl spent part of the time fortifying the damaged front door and fetching enough food and water to last them until she took them to wherever she'd been holed up. After that, he mostly watched her sleep.

When she was finally feeling well enough to travel, they packed up their things and got ready to leave the house for good. Carol dug in the closet, looking for something to wear, but the woman who had lived in this house just didn't own much in the way of practical clothing. So she ended up keeping the oversized T-shirt, putting on a wine colored pencil skirt, and zipping on her boots. Daryl said nothing, but found the skirt-and-boots look brain-numbingly sexy on her. He hoped she might keep the skirt for a while. He felt a little guilty thinking it, what with her still being injured. But maybe if he asked, she would wear it just for him.

They picked up their packs and started downstairs. As they left the bedroom, he heard Carol's breathing becoming unsteady. They started down the stairs, but before they reached the bottom, she had dropped down on the steps, hugging her pack to her chest. She was shivering and staring at the dark stains on the floor at the bottom of the staircase.

He tossed his own pack down and sat on the step below her, putting a hand on her knee.

"Hey, it's OK – you're safe."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry," Her voice shook.

"Come on. I'll take you through, and we never have to come back here again. You're with me – you're safe. Come on, kitten, take my hand."

Her wide eyes fixed firmly on his face, she took the hand he offered and stood, slinging her pack over her shoulder. She followed him down the stairs, one slow step at a time. When they finally made it out the front door, she let out a shaky breath and loosened the death grip she had on his fingers.

Eyes scanning for walkers, he led her to the car and the bike, now tucked behind a garage across the street. They loaded their packs into the car, and she settled into the driver's seat. He slipped into the passenger seat for just a moment to check on her.

"Are you OK to drive? We can come back for the bike later, if we need to."

She took a deep breath and shook her head. "No, I'm fine. We don't need to leave the bike."

"Then lead the way," he said, getting out of the car. He started up his bike and pulled onto the street after her. They had driven just a few miles when she turned down a little side street with older houses on slightly bigger lots. She stopped in the driveway of a smallish house and hopped out to open the gate. She drove in, and he followed, closing the gate after them. They parked behind the house.

He liked the place. There were tall, heavy shrubs between the yard and the neighboring places, making it easier to keep from being seen as well as providing a physical barrier, limiting the likely directions of approach. The backyard contained the remnants of a little garden, a few things still managing to stay alive without being tended, and there was a rain barrel that was clearly newly installed. He smiled at the thought of his clever Carol putting it in place.

They went inside, weapons at the ready, double checking the place for walkers or other intruders, but all was clear. They brought in their things from the car, and she led him to the basement. He was awed by the sheer amount of _stuff_ that was packed in there. There was more home canned food down there than he'd ever seen in one place in his life. That had clearly been left here by the previous owners, but the rest of it...Carol must have been working every day to bring all of that in.

"Remind me we need to start sending you on runs more often," he said, then clenched his jaw and cursed himself for being an idiot.

She looked at him with those big, sad, blue eyes, the ones that so pulled at his heart on the farm after Sophia was lost. There was hurt in them now as there had been then, and he moved to take her hands.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinkin'. We don't need to talk about that right now."

She nodded and went to unpack their bags.

They ate a quiet meal together that felt a little strained. He'd wanted to avoid bringing up anything to do with the prison until she was well again. It seemed unfair to talk about it before she was healed, like he would be pressuring her while she was vulnerable, and he didn't want that. He wanted her to choose to come with him. To choose _him_.

After they ate, she announced she was exhausted and was taking a nap. She curled up on the crappy little mattress with her back to him and dropped off to sleep.

He watched her for a while, but eventually settled himself on the floor next to the mattress with his head resting on a folded sweatshirt he pulled out of one of her many boxes. He tried to figure out what he could possibly say to her, how to tell her how he felt about her. How to make her understand how much he needed her. Imaginary conversations ran through his head, but they all ended up sounding stupid. Frustrated with himself, he eventually dropped off into a fitful sleep.

When Daryl woke, she was on her side, propped on an elbow, watching him thoughtfully.

"What? Am I droolin'?" he asked.

"You called me kitten. That's why I was remembering cats."

A grin crept out, and he shrugged, not sure what he should say.

She watched him carefully for a moment, then quirked a corner of her mouth and said, "I kind of liked it."

Afraid it might be a terrible mistake, he gathered every bit of courage he had in one deep breath. He moved over so he was on the mattress with her, resting his head on the pillows, and put out an arm, inviting her in. She hesitated only a moment before very carefully tucking herself in next to him, nestling her head on his shoulder. His free hand came up to cover hers where it rested on his chest. He closed his eyes and reveled in her warmth and the feel of her breathing against him, his body humming from her closeness.

"Why did you come back? I never asked. I thought maybe something had happened..." She trailed off, apparently fearful of bad news.

"Nothing happened, everyone's fine," he assured her. She let go of the breath she'd been holding, tickling his neck.

"Then why?"

He paused, mind flashing anxiously to all the imaginary ways this conversation had gone wrong. "Well, um...I...realized I never told you I loved you that night, and I couldn't let you go without you knowin'."

She pushed herself up to look at him.

"So, um. I love you. And now you know, I guess." The longer she looked at him the more anxious he became. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

But then she smiled that beautiful smile that made her eyes light up. The smile he saw so rarely, the one that made his insides flip when it was directed at him as it was now.

"I love you, too," she said, eyes shining. "Now kiss me, jackass – why've you been wasting all this time?"


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in getting this out to you. I was at Wizard World this weekend and it was excellent! Got to meet Norman Reedus and Michael Rooker. Giddy! **

**I'm also super sick now, so if I made ridiculous boo-boos in here, I blame it on the cold medicine.**

**Now, on to the smut!**

* * *

"_I love you, too," Carol said, eyes shining. "Now kiss me, jackass – why've you been wasting all this time?"_

Suddenly, nothing else mattered in the world. She loved him. And this time he couldn't excuse it as head trauma – she really loved him.

Daryl reached to brush her still-bruised cheek with his fingers. That smile and those eyes were for him, and it made his heart swell like the goddamn Grinch's. With a hand at the back of her neck, he pulled her close into the sweetest kiss he'd ever tasted. It started gentle and loving, but when she nipped at his lower lip, heat flared in him. Blood surged south, and he deepened the kiss, sweeping her tongue with his as her lips parted to him. He tightened his arm around her, and she melted into him with a soft sigh, pressing herself against his side.

He shifted them so he was above her, supported on one elbow. Hooking her chin with one thumb, he turned her head to the side and set himself to exploring her throat with his lips and tongue. He could feel the moan vibrate in her throat, sending another surge straight to his groin. Her hands roamed his back, slipping beneath his shirt, nails gently raking the skin there. He growled and nipped at the joining of her neck and shoulder, making her gasp.

Releasing her chin, he let his hand skim down her ribs to her waist, pushing up the hem of her T-shirt to expose her belly. He moved down to continue his rediscovery of her body, kissing and licking his way over her ribs and stomach, dipping his tongue into her navel. Nosing the T-shirt farther up, he found nothing beneath it but more skin. Sweet Jesus, she'd been braless this whole time. He got harder imagining the fabric of her shirt rubbing over her nipples every time she moved. His hand came up to cup one breast through the shirt, letting his fingers move over her, move the fabric over her, too – brushing and sliding across the sensitive skin. His mouth found the other nipple, and she arched into him, pressing herself into his touch with a soft cry of pleasure. His cock twitched in response to the sound, and he ground himself against her thigh.

He kissed his way down her belly, his hands sliding over her hips down to the hem of the narrow little skirt she'd chosen from the frilly closet. That hot little skirt that hugged the curve of her ass and nipped in at her slim waist. He put his thumbs between her knees and slid his palms upward, pushing the skirt to the top of her thighs. Her breath hitched as his thumb brushed the bit of silky fabric just barely visible beneath the skirt. He looked up to see her flushed, her eyes closed to relish the sensation of his hands on her skin, lips parted as she breathed little panting breaths. He slipped one finger under the silk between her legs and found it soaked. The evidence of her arousal just fueled his own. He wanted her – needed her desperately. He wanted to touch and taste and hold her, to drive her to shuddering weakness, crying out his name and asking for more.

He slid his finger along her slickness, beneath the lacy panties she wore, making her gasp. He pressed his nose into her, nuzzling and nipping at her through the silk. She squirmed and moaned at the teasing caresses. Sliding his hands up under the skirt, he caught the top of the panties and stripped them off her, leaving her wet and bared to him. Stroking his hands down her thighs, he pushed her knees apart and settled himself between them. He spread her open and took a long, laving taste of her. Her whole body jerked at the contact, her hips straining toward him. Putting his mouth to her, he began his exploration in earnest – seeking, licking, sucking, tasting, probing – discovering what made her writhe, what made her whimper, what made her shudder in pleasure.

The little sounds she was making gradually became a keening moan, and her hands gripped fistfuls of the bedding. He slipped two fingers inside, curving them up to stroke against her. His other hand came around to hold her hips in place.

"Oh! Oh, God, I'm – I'm – oh, Daryyyl!" She went rigid, shuddering and crying out. He could feel her clench around his fingers and a flood of wet heat as she came for him. He nuzzled along her inner thighs, kissing and licking as she rode out her orgasm.

When she slumped back against the mattress, he sat back to look at her lying there gasping, a sheen of sweat on her skin, hair sticking up in messy spikes. She opened her eyes, and the liquid blue pulled at his heart. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

He wiped the wetness from his chin with the heel of his hand, and ran his fingers along his tongue, gathering up the taste of her. She shivered as she watched him do it. He leaned forward to kiss her slowly and thoroughly. She caught his hand and brought it to her mouth. Pulling his fingers in, she licked at them and sucked hard. Watching her taste herself on his fingers made his erection pulse hard and insistently, making him groan with need.

He sat back and pulled her up with him. He pulled her shirt off over her head then stripped off his own. She unzipped her skirt and wiggled it down over her hips, tossing it to the side. Once he'd shed the rest of his own clothes, he pulled her up to her knees and held her flush against him, hands touching every part of her he could reach. His dick pressed hard into the smooth skin of her belly, and his hips rocked into her almost of their own accord. Sliding his hands down over her ass to her thighs, he leaned back and lifted, scooping her up to straddle him where he knelt on the mattress. Her arms tightened around his neck, and her slick folds ground against his cock, making him moan and twitch at the heat of her. He pulled back enough to change angles, probing for her opening. When he felt his head catch, he pushed upward into her. She gasped as he stretched her, then she opened herself to take him in until he was buried completely.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Daryl took a moment to gain control of himself – she was so wet and tight, and he wanted her so badly, it was a struggle not to lose it right there. Slowly, he began to move, thrusting up into her. She rocked against him, matching his rhythm. He buried his face in her neck, kissing and nipping at her, reveling in the feel of her wrapped around his body. She nibbled his earlobe and whispered things into his ear that made his cheeks burn.

Afraid he might lose his balance along with his control, he shifted them. Supporting her slight weight with one arm, he leaned them forward until she rested on the bed. He hooked one of her knees over his elbow, pushing her leg up to rest on his shoulder, giving him a new angle. Her hands clutched at him as he drove into her. As he felt himself coiling up for release, she reached around her own thigh to find his tightening balls with her fingers. The unexpected sensation sent him right over the edge, and he groaned through gritted teeth as he emptied himself as deep inside her as he could get.

Breathing hard, he collapsed forward, releasing her leg and bracing himself on an elbow to keep from crushing her beneath him. She wrapped her legs around his hips, squeezing him tight to her. Her hands were at his face, stroking his cheeks and combing through his hair while she peppered his jaw with kisses. Finally, she slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, never mind the crushing.

"I love you," she whispered.

He lifted his head from her shoulder to look into her sleepy eyes. "Still havin' trouble believin' I'm that lucky."

"Well, believe it."

He quirked a smile. "I love you, too."

* * *

They spent the rest of the day naked and wrapped around each other, occasionally pausing to eat or go pee. After a supper of venison jerky and home canned peaches, they lounged together on the narrow mattress for a long time in contented silence.

"You want me to go back to the prison, don't you?"

Carol's question caught him off guard. "Yes, but I don't want to talk about the prison yet. I wanted to wait until you felt better."

"Well, I'm feeling pretty fine right now," she said with a smile and a sensual full body stretch. "We might as well talk."

"I guess."

She was quiet for a while. He wondered if she'd changed her mind, but eventually she looked at him, her face turned serious. "Why would you think I deserve to go back after what I did? No one will want me there, so why should I force the issue? Isn't it better for me to just let it go for everyone else's sake?"

He shook his head in disbelief. "First of all, _I_ want you there. And others do, too. It wasn't Rick's decision to make. We can go back, work it out. Let the fuckin' council do its job!"

"It'll tear the place apart if I go back. It's not fair to everyone else. What's so important about me that I should screw everything up for them?"

He took her by the shoulder. "Carol, you _are_ important – don't you see that? You're as much a part of this family as Rick or anyone else. You've earned your place, and you deserve to be heard."

Her expression faltered a bit. "Don't you think I lost that place when I _murdered_ people?"

"I don't think it's for me to decide any more than Rick. We go back, we can work it out. The whole group together. Look," he said, stroking his thumb down her jawline. "This world's all fucked up, and things just ain't like they used to be. Sometimes we have to make hard choices, and sometimes we choose wrong. Doesn't mean we deserve to be tossed out like trash."

She looked away and actually seemed to be thinking about what he said. Hope flared that she might change her mind. Finally she sat up, chewing her lip.

"I'll go. If it goes badly, I'm out. But I'll go. I'll try it for you."

Relief flooded Daryl and he pulled her close. "Thank you. We'll work this out, you'll see."

She buried her nose in his neck and whispered, "I hope so."


	11. Chapter 11

**This gets real dark real quick. **

**I do not own anything to do with The Walking Dead. If I did, there would be lots more hot Caryl action. But not in this chapter.**

* * *

_No. This wasn't real. This couldn't be real. Surely this was some nightmare left over from her concussion. Carol stumbled forward, knife in hand, squinting through smoke and tears. Her lungs burned, and she coughed, trying to get the air she needed, but the air was on fire. She couldn't stay here, but she couldn't leave until she knew – until she saw for herself. There was a flurry of movement to her left, and she lunged forward to sink her blade into the walker's eye socket. When it went down, she went with it, crashing hard onto her knee and elbow. She and the unmoving corpse were face to face, tangled together on the ground like lovers._

* * *

The decision to return with Daryl to the prison did not sit easily with her. After their talk, they'd decided to load up the car with some of the food and supplies she'd gathered as a sort of peace offering to Rick and the others. In the morning they would drive to the prison and ask their family to consider another way to deal with what Carol had done. She'd smiled and reassured Daryl that it was what she wanted, though privately she didn't expect it to go well. All night long, she'd turned it over in her mind, the fear and anxiety not allowing her to sleep. She knew Tyreese would never accept her back and may very well kill her, and Rick would never see her as family again. Her heart still hurt where his words had cut her. They hurt even though she knew they were true – _because_ she knew they were true.

At dawn, she was lying under the blanket with her back to Daryl's chest, his arm around her waist, holding her tight to him even in his sleep. She savored the weight of his arm on her and the soft tickle of his breath on the back of her neck. Whatever today would bring, at least she had this.

The light coming in the little half-windows of their basement was dim and grey. She supposed it was overcast, which felt appropriate somehow. She even thought she heard the booming of thunder far in the distance. When Daryl began to stir, she slipped out from his embrace and dressed. She found some breakfast for them while he loaded the last of their gear into the car. They ate in silence, both of them anxious about what would come – despite Daryl's outward optimism, he clearly had his own doubts.

When they went to the car, she saw it was indeed a dark, overcast day, though it wasn't yet raining like she'd expected. Thunder rumbled again. The sky seemed darker to the north, toward the prison. She tried to ignore the ominous feeling the heavy sky gave her, but acid still churned in her stomach.

"You ready?" he asked, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

She took a deep breath and nodded, though she was far from sure she would ever be ready for this.

She started the car and pulled through the gate he'd opened for her. She waited while he brought his bike through and closed the gate after. Together they made their way out of the little neighborhood and headed up the highway toward the prison.

* * *

_There wasn't enough air for her to scream, but that didn't stop the screaming in her head. It wasn't true. It couldn't be. She yanked her knife from the corpse's eye and kicked herself free of its dead weight. It rolled onto its back, and Carol stared into the face in horror. She scrambled back on her hands and knees, as if distance would make it less real. But no matter how far away she got, Rick's dead face stared back at her._

_It wasn't true. It couldn't be._

* * *

As they topped the hill, Daryl brought his bike to a sudden stop. She pulled alongside him and rolled down her window, eyes wide as she saw what had stopped him. The darkness to the north wasn't just storm clouds. It was thick, black smoke boiling up from somewhere ahead – from where the prison was.

"That's not coming from the prison," she said, hoping he'd tell her she had her directions all wrong, and surely it was just a brushfire.

Another deep boom sounded. That wasn't thunder.

He looked grim. "Let's get up there – see what the fuck's goin' on. We'll cover the last mile or so on foot."

With that, he roared down the road toward the black column of smoke. Her heart pounded in her ears as she followed him, pushing the car faster than she should on the deteriorated asphalt. A short way out from the prison gates, he slowed and took his bike onto a side road. They went just out of sight of the highway before parking off the side of the road. They could smell the smoke and hear the crack of gunfire from here.

"C'mon!" Pulling his crossbow from his back, he headed into the woods, knowing she would follow.

They ran through the forest as quickly as they could, and Carol's lungs were screaming. As they finally approached the edge of the woods, she realized the gunfire had stopped. She crashed into Daryl's back when he lurched to a stop in front of her. Gasping for air, she peered through the last of the trees, but couldn't believe what she saw.

The prison was gone - nothing but a smoking ruin. Their fences that had kept them safe for so long were torn down and flattened. The walls that had made up their home were crumbled and broken with fires raging inside and out. The thick, roiling smoke and ash obscured much of the courtyard, but they could clearly see bodies scattered all around and the shambling forms of walkers.

There was a fucking _tank_ in the lower field, crushing the graves of their friends and family. It and several other vehicles were moving away, heading back toward the road. The massacre was over, and the victors were heading home.

Carol found herself crouched on the ground, head spinning as she tried to process what her eyes were telling her. She sucked in deep breaths, trying to stem the blackness that crept in to the edges of her vision. One hand clung to the rough bark of the tree next to her as she struggled to stay upright.

No.

It wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

Their home, their family. Gone.

Gone.

"Fuck." Daryl's whisper centered her again. He was seeing it, too.

She closed her eyes, digging her fingers into the tree. She took a deep breath and stood. Daryl turned to meet her gaze. The shock and horror she saw in his eyes tore at her, and she knew he was seeing the same in her own face.

It couldn't all be gone. There had to be something left. Some_one_ left.

She turned and bolted down the slope, heading for the downed fences. She had to find her family.

"Carol!" Daryl shouted after her, but she was already gone.

She ran across the bridge over the stream and leaped over the flattened tangle of razor wire from the top of the fence. The acrid smoke was thick, making it hard to breathe and harder to see. As she ran into the field, there were bodies on the ground – all strangers. A couple walkers took notice of her, turning to shuffle in her direction. As the first one reached her, a wild scream tore from her throat as she buried her knife in its face. After it fell, she lashed out with her boot heel until its head was nothing but pulp. A second walker approached and she sank her blade into its eye before racing up toward the courtyard. She had to find her family.

Daryl was still shouting for her, but when she looked back, she couldn't see him through the smoke. The roar of the fires became deafening as she got closer to the buildings. She found the inner fence and followed it until she reached a section that had been torn down. Coughing, she pulled her shirt up to cover her mouth and nose. She had to keep going. Find them.

Squinting into the smoke, she saw several shapes lined up in a row. Bodies. Bile rose in her throat, making her gag. No. This wasn't real. She scrubbed her burning eyes with the back of her hand, but the bodies were still there. They lay face down on the broken asphalt of the prison yard, hands bound behind them with heavy zip ties. Blood and brains were spattered from where they had each been shot in the back of the head.

Mark and Erin and Jeremy from the Decatur group.

Bob. Hershel. Maggie. Tyreese.

This had to be a nightmare. She'd fallen asleep, fearful of what the day would bring, and her mind had produced this horror. But her eyes burned and she gagged and coughed, but didn't wake up.

Fighting for air with knife in hand, she staggered forward.

A flurry of movement to her left caught her eye, and she lunged to pierce the walker's eye with her blade, falling with it when it went down. After untangling herself from the corpse, she stared at it in shock.

Rick.

It couldn't be real. She heard screaming, but she thought it must be in her head because there wasn't enough air to scream. She was on her hands and knees, staring back into the bloody face of the man who'd banished her from her home. His remaining eye was yellow and filmy, but it bored into her soul as though accusing her even in death, never to forgive.

Her stomach heaved, and she vomited until there was nothing left.

No. No no no.

"Carol!" Daryl's voice reached her over the roar of the fires. She crawled to her feet and staggered in the direction she thought it was coming from. The lack of air was making her dizzy, but she kept moving. She stumbled over something soft and fell, landing in a pile of... Oh, God no. That wasn't real. Not real, not real. Pushing herself to her feet again, she continued on, following the sound of Daryl's hoarse voice calling to her.

Wet. How did she get wet? She turned her face to the sky and felt raindrops. She closed her eyes and let the drops trickle down, washing away soot and tears and blood. Daryl's voice was still there, but the rain on her face made her forget.

Suddenly, he was there. His hand clamped around her wrist, pulling her arm over his shoulder as he dragged her back down the slope away from the nightmare behind them, into the cool silence of the forest.


	12. Chapter 12

**Sorry for the brutality, folks. I know it's harsh, but this is where it's been heading all along. You just didn't know it yet.**

**Final chapter. Deep breath.**

* * *

The gaping wounds in Rick's chest had leaked blood and fluid as he had lurched toward Carol. His face, so familiar yet _wrong _with its hazy eyes and snapping teeth_,_ haunted her every time she closed her stinging eyes. The row of bodies with their skulls blown apart surrounded her, pooling blood soaking into her boots.

Rain poured down on them, fat, heavy drops erratic from traveling through the forest canopy. She slapped at Daryl's chest to get him to stop and let her go. He slowed and eased her arm from over his shoulder. Coughing hard and gagging up ash, she gathered her feet under her and waved at him to tell him she was all right.

All right? She wouldn't ever be all right again.

"Did you see?" she croaked. "Did you see them?"

He nodded, then shook his head. "I saw somethin', but I ain't sure... Fuck. _Fuck_!"

A barking sob ripped out of her when she tried to tell him that everyone they knew and loved was dead. He pulled her roughly to his chest and crushed her in his arms, burying his face in her neck. She clawed at his back and cried, needing him closer – needing to know he was still there and hadn't been ripped away from her like the whole rest of her world. They clung trembling together in the ashy rain.

When they pulled apart, neither could bear to be separated completely. She latched onto his hand, determined never to let him go.

"We have to go back," she whispered. "I have to know who... There has to be someone left."

"I know. The rain will help clear the smoke." His voice was rough.

Hand in hand they weaved through the trees, heading back toward the smoldering ruin of the prison. Heavy as it was, the rain wasn't enough to quench the fires, but it had cleared much of the thick smoke. They carefully made their way through the field, cutting down walkers one by one as they approached. But by the time they made it to the courtyard, the walkers they killed sometimes had familiar faces. Old Mrs. McCoy from Woodbury. Mark from Decatur. Elliot from Marietta.

Beth.

Carl.

When they reached the line of bodies, hot tears were streaming freely down Carol's face, mixing with the cool rain. She couldn't tell if it was more than just rain on Daryl's face.

She turned away from the bodies only to see the soft thing she had fallen on before. Sinking to her knees next to the haphazard pile, she reached out to caress the small hands and empty faces of the prison's children. Luke, Elias, Lizzie, Mika...Judith. Oh, God. All of them. It was too much to accept. In a second pile across the courtyard were most of the elderly folks from Woodbury.

All dead and left to rot.

"Who's left?" Daryl's question shook her out of her stupor. "Who ain't here?"

Her head reeled as she tried not to think about who _was_ here. "Uhh, I don't know. Um. Glenn. I haven't seen Glenn. Or Sasha."

"Seen Michonne?" Daryl asked.

She shook her head. Maybe someone managed to make it out after all, but she was afraid to hope. If those hopes were crushed, she wouldn't be able to cope. The only way she could get through this was by staying numb.

Together they pushed as far into the ruins as they safely could, looking for survivors or anything salvageable, but there was nothing but walkers, bodies, and ashy mud. Anything valuable had been taken or destroyed. Every living thing murdered. Even the bus that was supposed to have taken people to safety at their meetup point had been hit by a shell from the tank, leaving only tangled metal wreckage.

After their search, they retreated from the heat of the receding fires back to the woods, making their way to the road in silence. She still held his hand in a crushing grip. They climbed into the car and sat, unable to speak. They shivered, but whether it was from their wet clothes or something else, she didn't know.

After a long time, Carol spoke. "What do we do?"

Daryl shook his head helplessly. "Gotta check the meetup point. See if anyone made it."

"OK," she nodded, gripping the steering wheel. "OK, meetup point."

* * *

How do you go on after something like this? She didn't think it should be possible, but she was doing it anyway. She tried not to think about anything but their goal. They needed to reach the meeting place – a gas station and mini-mart a few miles away from the prison. It was close enough to be reached on foot if needed, but far enough away not to be in immediate danger if something happened at the prison.

Something like a tank obliterating the place, and monsters murdering nearly everyone she had left in the world.

Carol shook her head and refocused on the motorcycle in front of her. If any of their family remained, they would be at the gas station.

By the time they reached the meetup point, it was late afternoon. They tucked the car and bike behind the station and quickly checked the building for walkers, but it was clear. Unfortunately, it was also clear of the living. No one waited for them, and no one had disturbed the stash of emergency supplies hidden under a pile of pallets in the stock room. The numbness that Carol was relying on to keep her sane began to waver with fear that no one had survived.

Neither of them could eat, so they brought in some blankets to cushion the floor, and they sat together, leaning against the back wall to wait. She curled in to Daryl's side with her head on his shoulder, hand clutching his shirt under his leather vest. His arms were an anchor, holding her close to him. His cheek pressed against the top of her head, and she could feel each breath tickling her short hair.

Night fell and still no one came.

Carol jerked awake with a gasp, heart pounding and breathing ragged. Nightmare. She remembered nothing of it but a sickening terror and a leftover feeling of suffocation. Looking around, she oriented herself. It was still night. Faint moonlight streamed in unevenly through grimy windows. They were in the gas station. Everyone they knew was dead.

They'd fallen asleep on the floor – Daryl still leaned against the wall, she with her head resting on his thigh. Now he blinked sleepily down at her, his hand still on her shoulder. She sat up and scrubbed her hair with her fingers.

He reached out to pull her against him again. "In the morning, we'll go out lookin'. See if there's any sign someone made it out. Rain'll have washed away most everything, but I can look."

She leaned on his shoulder and gripped his fingers hard.

In the morning, they searched, walking the woods and the roads between the gas station and the prison. They circled the prison from just inside the edge of the forest looking for tracks from anyone who might have escaped and gone a different direction. All they found were muddy ruts from the tank's treads and the vehicles that went with it.

For two days they looked and they waited, but no one came. There was no sign of Glenn, Sasha, Michonne or anyone else. They left a note with the hidden stash of supplies in the stock room just in case someone came while they were out searching, but each time they returned, it remained undisturbed.

The numbness had taken over Carol's waking hours completely. She followed Daryl on his hunts, keeping her eyes open for signs of their friends. She killed walkers that ventured too close. She put food in her mouth and swallowed it down, though it all felt and tasted like chalk.

She knew now that everyone was dead.

She couldn't help but think that it was her fault. If she hadn't killed Karen and David, she wouldn't have been sent away and Daryl wouldn't have left the prison to find her. If Daryl had been there...well, she didn't know. But she was sure he would have gotten _someone_ out. Even one person would have been one more person not dead because of her. She should have been there, too. She should have died with her family. It puzzled her that though she knew it was her fault, she didn't feel guilty. She didn't feel anything – at least not while she was awake.

Her dreams, however, were anything but numb. At night, when she did manage to drop off to sleep, she would wake in terror, sweating and shaking, with Daryl beside her trying to soothe her. She never remembered the dreams.

On the third morning, she sat keeping watch over Daryl as he caught a rare bit of sleep for himself. She stared at the filthy windows as they grew slowly brighter with the rising sun. A small sound caught her ear – something was bumping the front door. She gently settled Daryl's hand on the floor next to him before rising to her feet and creeping down the aisle farthest from the windows.

She could see a human shape silhouetted through the grit on the window of the door. Whether it was living or dead, she couldn't tell, but it seemed to be alone.

Gripping her knife at the ready, she reached slowly forward to flip the lock. The door swung inward from the weight pushing on the other side. The body fell heavily in a heap just inside the doorway, a mass of dirt, blood, and dreadlocks. A sword clattered to the floor beside her.

Michonne.

The sound brought Daryl fully awake at the back of the shop.

"Carol? What is it?"

Carol shook herself out of her shock and rushed to the other woman's side, pulling her ungracefully the rest of the way in, then closing and locking the door.

"It's Michonne! Bring water and the first aid bag!" She pushed the hair from the injured woman's face. "Michonne? Are you with me?"

She groaned and blinked her eyes blearily, but didn't answer.

Daryl arrived at Michonne's other side and began pulling things from the bag. Carol's hands moved swiftly over the woman's body, trying to find the source of all the blood. She was so covered with filth and gore it was difficult to tell what was there. When she found it, she sat back in despair. Among all the other deep cuts and scrapes was a hole in her belly from a bullet or maybe shrapnel. There was no exit wound and she burned with a fever so hot Carol couldn't believe she was still alive. There was nothing she could do.

"Michonne?" Daryl's eyes were pinched and stormy as he reached out to clean away some of the grime from her face with a cloth. Carol's heart squeezed as she watched him, knowing the two of them had been kindred spirits and good friends.

The dark eyes opened and focused on him. They were glassy with fever, and salty tear tracks were dried on her cheeks. He took one of her hands in his.

"Governor. Came." She coughed weakly and her face crumpled in pain. "Prison's gone."

"We know. Did anyone else make it out with you?"

She shook her head. "Glenn. Sasha. Forced north. We tried to circle back, look for others, but walkers...walkers took Sasha down. Then Glenn. He died protecting me – didn't know how bad I was hurt. Tried to...couldn't stop him." She stopped, gasping for air.

Carol gently lifted the woman's head and helped her take a drink of water. She took two swallows, then coughed again. Her head dropped back weakly.

Michonne fixed her eyes on Daryl again. "Don' lemme turn."

Jaw clenched, he nodded.

Her free hand came up to grip Carol's arm and her eyes shifted to the other woman's face. "Take care 'f 'im." she slurred.

Her eyes closed and her breath came in small, sharp gasps. Then they stopped coming at all.

* * *

That evening, they stood together on the road at the edge of the woods, looking out over the prison ruins. The weight of his arm on her shoulders was her tether to the living world, and she hugged his waist fiercely. So many walkers now roamed the area it wasn't safe to approach. The bodies of their friends and family still lay on the grass of the field and the broken asphalt of the courtyard. It hurt knowing they wouldn't be able to lay them to rest – that they would rot where they fell or be eaten by those _things_. But there was nothing they could do. They had buried Michonne in the woods behind the gas station. They had added to the note stashed in the emergency supplies, giving directions to the house with the basement, just in case. Neither of them expected anyone else to find it, but they left it. Just in case.

The sun slipped below the horizon and darkness fell. When they could no longer see the ruined towers and shattered walls, they turned away from the prison for the last time, and together they drove away down the crumbling, empty highway.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for sticking with this. I know it's been a bit of a roller coaster and there's no happy ending this time. I genuinely appreciate every read and every review, even when you hate me. You guys are the best.**

**Caryl on.**


	13. Epilogue

**Because several people asked for a more hopeful epilogue, here it is. I hope you like it.**

**I still don't own this stuff, but I sure would have fun with it if I did.**

* * *

Daryl stood at his post on the wall, eyes scanning the broad open landscape in all directions. He'd taken third shift this week, meaning his time on the wall would end shortly after dawn. The chill in the air was easing as the sun broke over the horizon, beaming warm light over the rolling plains of eastern Wyoming. He still missed the forests of his home state, but there was something to be said for the empty beauty of the great plains.

Two years ago, he and Carol had loaded up her car and his bike and started moving west. They didn't really have a plan as they traveled, other than putting distance between themselves and the Governor. There was no reason to think he would look for them, but they didn't want to risk staying anywhere nearby. Plus the area held too many painful memories. They needed a fresh start.

Along the way they'd had a few close calls with walkers, with injury, and with some unsavory types, but they'd also found some good people along the way. Some stayed with them, some moved on. Some of them died. But they'd slowly made their way north and west, surviving as best they could.

Daryl had never been further west than Auburn, Alabama, before the end of the world. He found it funny that it had taken an apocalypse for him to get out and see the country.

The Mississippi River had nearly forced a stop to their westward travels. They'd had to move north as far as Tennessee before they were able to find a passable bridge, and even then it had taken them days to clear a path through. There wasn't really a reason they needed to cross, but the urge to keep moving was strong. The group continued on through Arkansas, Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, and eventually into Wyoming. More people joined them, more people left. And more people died. But they continued on.

As the sun crept higher, Daryl turned to look over the place they now called home. Wyoming was very sparsely populated before the outbreak, which meant fewer walkers to deal with overall. They'd met up with some folks while scavenging there – the good sort of folks – who'd had a small settlement going nearby, east of the town of Wright. Eventually they'd invited the travelers to stay permanently, and about two thirds of them chose to join the little town, including Carol and Daryl.

Before the turn, their home had been a huge walled compound that housed a religious cult. It'd been more of a commune than anything, and the place had already been set up to be largely self-sufficient back then. Solar panels and wind turbines provided for the few electrical needs and water came from a series of wells. Much of the land both inside and outside the fences had been farmed, and many of the crops had survived after the original inhabitants had opted out as a group. The open plains meant they had plenty of warning if anyone or anything approached. These days, the hardest things to provide were medical supplies and clothing, since any place near enough to make a run had been picked clean long ago. Ammunition wasn't even on the list anymore. It simply couldn't be found. What little they had was more precious than gold. People carried knives or other weapons like Daryl's worn crossbow while guns were tucked away in reserve.

A scuffling sound let him know that someone was coming to relieve him from watch. Tony wasn't yet twenty years old, but he had a gravity about him that let you forget he was so young. Daryl gave him a nod and a clap on the shoulder as they traded places on the wall.

He climbed down and stretched before heading to the dorm. Most of the folks who lived here were still living in the original building that housed the cult, which meant very little privacy. As they were able, the settlers had begun building small sod houses, the first of which went to families with children. Eventually they would have enough for everyone, but for the time being, he and Carol stayed in the dorm.

Carol was up and gone by the time he got there – not surprising since he had third shift, but disappointing anyway. He flopped down on their mattress and fell almost immediately to sleep.

* * *

A few hours later, he rose from his nap to go find his wife. Her morning hours were usually spent in the schoolroom with the town's children. Everyone contributed to educating the children, whether it was academic or practical. Some taught the kids to read, others taught them to tan leather or field dress an antelope. Adults often sat in on the more practical classes as well.

When he found her, she was in the midst of storytime. It wasn't storytime like from the prison, but neither was it reading from books, though they did that sometimes, too. This was a different tradition they'd started as a group long ago. Mississippi was the earliest he could remember it happening in a more structured fashion. The group would sit around the fire and share stories about lost loved ones – recounting events that they felt most characterized the people they missed. The stories helped them all remember and honor fallen companions, but it let the younger folks feel connected to family they'd been too young to remember or perhaps never known.

The children were clamoring for their favorite tales.

"Tell the one about Mr. Rick saving Mr. Hershel by chopping off his leg!"

"Gross! No, I want the one where baby Judith got borned!"

"Miss Carol? Will you tell us how Mr. T-Dog saved you from the walkers?"

"Please, Miss Carol! I want to hear about Mr. Glenn and the well!"

Carol held up a hand to quiet the shouting. Her eye caught Daryl's as he stood leaning in the doorway watching. "Today, I think we'll talk about someone very special and very, very smart. If it weren't for her, Mr. Daryl and I might never have found each other again after we were separated. Her name was Miss Michonne."

Daryl smiled as the children cheered – they always liked Michonne stories. He rested his head against the door frame and closed his eyes, letting Carol's voice and his warm memories of their lost family wash over him. Storytime was his favorite time of day.


End file.
